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“Okay, okay. Yes, I shouldn’t stereotype and assume everyone is straight just because they’re in a fraternity. Turns out he was super gay too.” Brett laughed, then paused to listen as he kissed Mom on the cheek while she stirred a pot on the stove. Then he grabbed a beer and a bag of chips and sat down at the kitchen table, close enough to the family room for me to continue to just happen to overhear.

“And ...” Brett went quiet again, apparently interrupted once more by the super-gay Wisconsinite on the other end of the line. After a few seconds, he sighed, exasperated but with a touch of affection in it. “I know, I get it. I know it was hard for him, and I know it’s hard for you to be back home. But, T, I just remember you being out and proud at college. I can’t even picture you being … not. I really just hate to think you’re back to living in the closet or whatever.” Brett was speaking very quietly, but I strained to listen while my stomach clenched, and my thoughts swirled. Turner was still living at home. Turner was back in the closet. Turner was … slutty?

“I mean. I would want to punch someone in the throat if they told Dalt he couldn’t just be who he is, and I kinda want to punch your parents, and their church, and that weird boarding school or whatever that you went to. Right in the fucking throat, T, all of them. They should just accept you, Turner. Are you at least getting out, having some fun?”

Wow. Brett and I had finally had a few conversations about my sexuality, but that was mostly him teasing me about dating Austin. I’d never heard him say something so affirming. I swelled with pride momentarily, comforted by the thought that Brett really did have my back, like my mom had once assured me a long time ago. But then I went back to thinking about Turner and what kind of life he was living in the Midwest.

I really wished I could hear the answer to my brother’s question. Was Turner getting out? Having fun? Being slutty? Dating?

It felt like a fuse was burning in my stomach, the explosion poised to hit any second.

Austin elbowed me and un-paused the game, but I grabbed the remote and lowered the volume before I went back to shooting bad guys. He raised his eyebrows, and I elbowed him back.

“No, I get that you have to be careful around your parents, but don’t you live near a big city? Can’t you go there, find a bar, or a club, or hell, you like museums. Go to a museum, maybe you’ll run into a hot guy there. If you turn on that app you told me about … Yeah!” Brett’s voice rose, so there was no missing the rest of that sentence. “Guys4Guys, I bet there will be at least a few other hot dudes looking at paintings, or statues, or whatever …” Brett paused, likely interrupted again.

Was Turner telling my brother he thought that apps and museums were a good idea? I hated thinking about Turner, miserable and in the closet, but I kinda also hated the thought of him cruising for guys, whether at a bar or a museum or on the most popular gay hookup app in America. Stupid crush.

Brett was laughing when he took up the conversation.

“Fuck, yeah, I just implied you’re hot. I am secure enough in my masculinity to say that.”

Another pause. “Yeah, okay, Mallory maybe mentions how hot you are every time your picture shows up in her feed. You’re lucky I’m secure enough in our relationship to not be jealous of you, you absolute smoke show.”

My brother laughed at his own joke. “Yes, I said it! You are a smoke show!” I mean, he wasn’t wrong. I could just picture Turner brushing him off while blushing around his adorably shy smile. But my brother’s response led me to believe that Turner was maybe considering Brett’s suggestion, and that had me feeling like I wanted to shoot more pixilated guys. I tried my best to focus on the game.

“Go, Dalt.” Austin had noticed the uptick in my body count.

Brett’s voice softened, and there was no more joking.

“Yeah, well, you’re allowed to go somewhere that will accept you. Somewhere you’re wanted. Like you could think about ... I know. I mean I don’t really know, but I think I understand. I just wish you were happy there.” Brett crunched a chip and listened. At least he had the decency to tilt his phone up and not chew in Turner’s ear.

“If you change your mind, I’m thinking about getting a place closer to the hotel. We could move in together. You could come work with me if you can’t find something else. There’s a great gayborhood near there. That’s what some of the guys I work with call it. That could be fun. We would have fun being roommates again, I think. And I know you’re gonna love Mallory.”

Brett paused, and I strained to listen as if I could hear Turner from where we sat in the adjacent room. Did Turner agree that it was a great idea to move to suburban New Jersey, or was he telling Brett he was crazy for suggesting it? Was he assuring Brett he was happy in Wisconsin, cruising for guys every night, and that we’d never see him again? I mean that Brett … Brett would never see him again.

Despite my last-minute efforts, Austin beat me in the game and yelled about it fairly loudly, right when Brett was saying something to Turner before finishing his conversation. “Even so, T. If she moves in with me, I’ll still always have room for you, dude. At least think about it.”

The door to the garage opened, and Austin looked from the TV to me. “Holy shit, dude, your dad is home in time for dinner.”

I shoved Austin in the shoulder. “Fuck, man. Where are you gonna sit?”

It was a joke; the kitchen table could easily fit eight.

Once we were around the table, Dad and Brett paused their conversation about work long enough for Dad to say, “I think Anita might finally be ready to sell.” After years of plotting, without us kids knowing, once Brett started working for At Home, Dad felt the acquisition of Anita’s building was a topic of conversation that could be had around the dinner table. Austin, my brother, and I all looked at each other but kept quiet. My mom, on the other hand, had no problem calling my dad out.

“Chris,” my mother chastised. “No one around this table wants to hear your plans to turn the toy store into an extension of the hotel.”

“It’s prime real estate, Leila.”

“You already have prime real estate!”

“Has she mentioned anything to you? Has she ever explained …”

My mom didn’t even pretend she was going to answer him, so Dad stopped mid-sentence, paralyzed by her look, and turned my way instead.

“Dalt? Does Miss Anita …”

Mom and I talked at the same time, her warning, “Don’t answer that!”